


My Delicate Flower

by killingaesthetic



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, Morning Kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 13:30:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6376852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killingaesthetic/pseuds/killingaesthetic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick looked so peaceful that morning, like a delicate flower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Delicate Flower

**Author's Note:**

> This story may contain content triggering for some viewers. Viewer discretion is advised.

Pete was awake long before he opened his eyes. He was overjoyed by the pure euphoria of waking up with his arms around his lover's delicate body, that he failed to notice how cold how cold his boyfriend, Patrick, felt. He soon he convinced himself to open his eyes, simply to see Patrick's naked body cuddling with him. Patrick was truly beautiful, everything from his warm eyes that held a mischievous glent, to the soft curves of his body Pete often compares to the petals of a blooming flower. Patrick was his flower.

His eyes eased open, shocked by the harsh light. It must've been later in the day than he thought it was. That was okay though, because they both didn't have work today. One he had adjusted himself to the brightness, his eyes landed on Patrick. He never took up much bed space, it was like even unconscious he was considerate enough to remember that there was another person in that bed whom also needed room. He was glad that they fell asleep with no covers, because Patrick's full form was on display. His arms were clutching a pillow in his tender and caring way, although it was just a pillow. It was a very lucky pillow, Pete thought. His legs were pulled close to his chest, so he looked like a ball of some sort. His feather like hair was hanging down in strands across his white forehead. His mouth was set into an expressionless line, and his eyes were tightly shut. Even so, Pete thought that the stars were shining brightly under his eyelids. 

Pete suddenly noticed the strong urge to pee, and he knew he couldn't hold it inside for much longer. So, he gently pulled his left arm from under Patrick's bare chest.

Patrick didn't wake up when Pete did that, which he thought was very odd. Patrick was an extremely light sleeper, and the slightest movement would wake him especially in the morning. He didn't think much of it, because they had done many, many things the night before and those so said things have a tendency to wear most people out. Patrick topped anyway, which he knew from experience to be more tiring than the other option.

Pete speedily used the restroom and was soon back in the bedroom. The fact that Patrick didn't wake up was still troubling slightly in the back of his mind, like an itch on your nose that you try to ignore but gets more prominent the longer you hold off. Pete couldn't stand the itch, so he knew he had to wake up Patrick, no matter how peaceful he looked. 

"Patrick!" He said not annoyingly loud, but not soft either.

There was no response.

"Patrick?" He asked, now scared that he wasn't responding.

He shook his shoulders, his shaking get rougher each second he did it, but still to no avail. Was he sick? Or just that tired.

He decided to try a method that almost guaranteed woke him up. He decided to kiss him. He didn't really like doing, because consent is an important factor in their relationship and he always asked before he kissed him, but he scared out of his mind and he didn't know what else he could do.

He leaned down, and pressed his lips against Patrick's. They felt more waxy and harder than usual. 

Patrick still didn't wake up.

Pete stepped away from Patrick's body for a moment, to try and regain control of himself. He was just asleep, and this sort of panic was simply unreasonable. 

As he was trying to calm himself down, he noticed something. Patrick's chest wasn't moving.

He rushed over to the bed, and placed his hand on his chest. It was cold and as hard as a rock. How had he not noticed the coldness? How had he not noticed the heartbeat, or lack thereof.

If Pete was panicking before, he was really panicking now. There had to be something he could do. People at young as Patrick don't just die out of the blue. Surely. the idea of doing CPR came to his head, and he he didn't have any other ideas, so that's just what he did.

He wasn't exactly sure how the process went, but he had seen it done through countless movies and TV shows, so he figured he knew what he was doing. He put his lips on Patrick's, and breathed in. He pushed down roughly on Patrick's chest. He hated being so rough with his delicate flower, but what else could he do? He repeated the motions over an over again, in an endless loop.

He was doing everything right, so why wasn't Patrick responding. 

Why was an excellent question, Pete thought.

Why?

Why did the world have to take Patrick, who was barely a man, now?

Why didn't they take him as well? 

Why?

WHY?

He knew CPR was useless now. He had probably passed away sometime in the early hours of the morning, and it was much later than that.

He sank to his knees, the weight of his own tears to much for his feet to handle. He held onto Patrick's lifeless hand. He couldn't even imagine it as it used to be. He leaned his forehead against his and Patrick's mattress, which he remembered they could barely afford, and he sobbed. 

Patrick Stump, his beautiful, delicate flower, was dead.


End file.
